


The Wires Talk

by HarlotsHouse



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Chobits AU, Digital Art, Fake Science, Hannibal is just happily being a nuisance, Hannibal loves? Will Graham, Jack being Jack, Jack wants homicidal Hannibal to help catch a killer, Jealous Behaviour, M/M, Manipulation, Mechanic Will Graham, Murder, Obsessive Behaviour, Possesive behaviour, Sassy Will Graham, Science Fiction, Unhealthy behaviour, Will Graham is So Done, Will is Hannibal's impulse control, Will is a Mess, Will is reluctantly kind of forced back into the fbi, Will plays mediator for Hannibal and everyone else, creepy behaviour, fake engineering, he fixes robots, homicidal behaviour, please don't steal my art I made it for this fic, robot with feelings, robot!hannibal, usual canon toxicity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarlotsHouse/pseuds/HarlotsHouse
Summary: "He's rather...very un-persocom-like in his demeanor."Will resists the urge to roll his eyes at this. "If by that, you refer to how its countenance doesn't rely on appearing like a rich old male predator's dream-girl fetish, yes, it rather isn't. This doesn't change that it's made of the same wires and mechanics."Same lifeless eyes, same lack of human emotions.The agent gives it a skeptical once-over, blatantly expressing his expectance of the persocom animating to life and screaming bloody murder."I'll leave you to it then," the man coughs awkwardly and leaves Will and the still machine alone.For a short second, Will swears he sees a mischievous glimmer in the robot's maroon eyes.He shakes his head. It is only a robot after all.___AU in which Jack Crawford wants Will to fix a homicidal robot named Hannibal with the intentions he will help solve a serial killer case. Will refuses to believe Hannibal is a class of persocom robots that is capable of feelings. He is proven wrong.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 43
Kudos: 212





	1. Chapter 1

Cold water spears the earth with the primordial fury of the heavens. A man observes the bloody wreckage left behind by machine and man. One could even argue man and machine. Regardless, their unforgiving cruelty leaves him behind to bare witness to both their inhumane reunion and parting farewell to society.

Despite the carnage, he can't help the morbid sentiment that they are guiltless, victims to their instincts and base nature.

* * *

**Wolf Trap, Virginia** **[One year previous]**

Silver frames of machinery and other metal knick-knacks litter the workshop. Wires and a rainbow of tools are strung along the walls and loomed around hook nails for easy grabbing. Parts and pieces of artificial limbs are messily strewn about both in bins and on the floor. Pivots and joints are -despite various efforts to be kept orderly- all but let loose in every direction, yet somehow Will always finds one when he needs one. It is here, surrounded by metal and grey walls, where Will spends most of his days, working, covered in sweat, and sometimes dark, greasy oil when he decides to work on things other than robots.

On one such afternoon Will's sharp hearing detects the sound of tires rolling on the asphalt outside his mechanic shop. He warily rises to his feet, his latest customer isn't due to arrive for pick-up until the end of the week. Cracking his hands above his head, Will takes a moment to prepare himself for what may likely be an annoying customer. What he finds outside the door is a solemn faced man.

"Jack? What are you doing here?"

Will takes in the tired crease of the other man's brow and the purple bags under Jack's bloodshot eyes. Someone's dead. Or rather, _people_ are dead.

"No."

"I haven't spoken yet, Will," Jack sighs. "Though I figured you might refuse. That's...fine, but since you have, I guess I'll go straight to my other request. I need you to fix something for me."

Will immediately hates the way Jack says _need you to_. As if the taller man still reigns any authority over Will. Will half expects him to say 'Oh- and can you get me a coffee. Black no sugar. Thanks, Will.' Though based off the older man's haggard appearance, Jack is clearly at his wits end. Will is almost inclined to actually get him a coffee. _Annoying customer indeed,_ Will thinks wryly.

"Fix something?" Will raises a single brow and crosses his arms. "I suppose I can give your car a quick check, though I must inform you-"

"This isn't about my car, Will, this is something" -Jack rubs his eyes, clearly displeased about what he is going to say next-"It's a persocom. And not just a persocom, a chobit."

Will's mind flounders for a tense long second. "A...chobit?"

"What we suspect is the only one in existence. Though we believe he got rid of some that may have existed before. The Kuebiko Killer has striked again, as I'm sure you've heard on the news."

"I'm not inclined to listen to the news."

"May I come in?"

Will gestures him inside with a wide sweeping gesture, mind still struggling to grasp the implications of Jack's words. "Fixing persocoms is extremely complicated work enough as it is. A chobit would unimaginably be even more so just based off the rumors-"

"He worked for me before," Jack interrupts as he looks around the shop before glancing back at Will. Gaze distant, stuck in a time faraway. "He was our profiler before you...I mean _it_ was our profiler. For confidential reasons we never mentioned it to you, to anyone really besides those directly involved and affected."

Will's eyes study Jack's face for any hint of deceit. Jack takes this as insinuative to continue.

"If you can't do the profiling for this case, we'd greatly appreciate your cooperation in fixing the persocom so as to use its expertice to help save lives. Figure it may level some of the damage that thing brought on in the past with something good."

Will offers the man a chair, and Jack quite nearly slumps into it before giving his thanks as he takes off his hat.

"Its way of moving and talking was rather astonishing, carried itself with more class than any human I'd ever met. Incredibly polite, charming, and seemingly very skilled at reading social cues and people generally. That was, of course, the backbone of the issue.

"I'd first heard of Hannibal from a colleague of mine. At the time it was all just speculation about a persocom that had been passed around units and fields. It had at one point been in charge of helping doctors with surgery. Some say it performed better than actual human surgeons. However, it being a persocom meant it could not empathize with human pain. Eventually..."

"It lead to deaths," Will guesses, leaning against the shabby work table behind him.

"-Right. However no one wanted the persocom's good skills to go to waste. So they sent Hannibal to the FBI. As you can imagine, people were...fascinated by Hannibal. Despite his inability to empathize with humans he could gauge emotional status with alarming accuracy. We'd bring him along to crime scenes, he was extremely handy in pointing out unsuspecting evidence, and in guessing -based off the killer's behavioral patterns- what the perp might do next. Eventually he worked more as an on-call psychological evaluator."

"It catches the bad guy and gets no traumatic mental backlash. The ideal tool," Will very clearly leaves out the unspoken _unlike me._

Jack nods along awkwardly before continuing, "Hannibal never had an owner, at least not a definitive one, never left the status 'ward of the state' or FBI. The persocom labor act indicates that any salary involving a persocom's work goes straight to its owner, or in some cases, its manufacturer. Evidently Hannibal had one but refused to disclose any information of them other than it having been a Lithuanian man. We presume Hannibal's makers to be dead. He made his own keep."

"So Hannibal was a filthy rich persocom with no owner or manufacturer. How..." Will gives the barest hint of a wry smile. "-almost lonely."

"Hannibal surrounded himself-" Jack huffs at himself once more, realizing he keeps humanizing Hannibal rather than referring to it as an object. "-It surrounded itself with elite people and lavish things. One might even say it preferred to. Unsurprising for a persocom, it was skilled at making food and often hosted parties for the aforementioned high end dwellers. Alana, whom I believe you remember, was rather fond of the persocom. In fact she was the first to actually try to officially classify Hannibal as a chobit."

Will glances up at this, surprised. But only for a moment. Will can now easily envision the ever-caring Alana fooling herself into believing an advanced robot capable of feelings past all the wires, faux eyes, and skin-like silicone surface.

"Did _you_ believe Hannibal capable of morality and the consideration for making choices?"

"Hannibal at one point helped with" -Jack pauses, seemingly changing his mind- "For a short moment, I believed the persocom something akin to a friend. If that thing _is_ capable of morality, it's not a good one.

"He left no tracks. In fact, if it weren't for Alana noticing that his methodical and surgical pattern matched the work of a particular murder scene we never would have caught him or even suspected him. He'd been murdering people, Will, good honest people, all picked at random. For what purpose is unclear, but nevertheless gruesome. Either he was designed with the purpose to develop and act in such a way, or someone created one of the first intelligent machines capable of experiencing humanity. Only it chose to be a bloody murderer.

"We caught it in the act. Didn't know its weak point or power button so we shot at it several times until we finally caused enough inner damage to shut it off."

"How do you or the FBI plan to keep it under control even if I somehow manage to fix it? Who will stop it from killing again?"

"We won't. You will."

* * *

The pay will be good. Extremely so. But Will wonders if it's even worth it. He's more so doing it because business has been rather slow, rich people don't tend to often break their prized persocoms for Will to fix. And also because he's always had an undercurrent need for a challenge. Chobits are a rumored class of persocoms who resemble humans the most -out of all the other variety of persocoms- in both appearance and activity. Most persocoms are used as tutors, helpers, workers, cashiers, maids, and are skilled at several things. Chobits, however, are rumored to have personalities. They are also supposedly specially made and one of a kind in their hard drives and structures.

A small part of Will is excited at the prospect of working on Hannibal. Another part is terrified at the thought of this going horribly wrong.

A pair of agents deliver Hannibal to Will's shop one Monday night. Will correctly assumes these agents to have either known of Hannibal or having directly worked with it in some way. If the way their wary glances towards it and slight twitching as they heave it into the room is anything to go by. One of the agents in particular stares at Hannibal the most. Will can hardly blame the brunet.

Hannibal is not at all what Will had been expecting. In the sense that, it looks so deceptively human. Detailed, soft and properly textured skin-like silicone, a wig of what must be real human ash blond with grey accented hair, sloped cheekbones, aristocratic nose, brown-red glass eyeballs, and the impression that it is simply a man deep in thought in some distant location.

"He's rather...very un-persocom-like in his demeanor."

Will resists the urge to roll his eyes at this. "If by that, you refer to how its countenance doesn't rely on appearing like a rich old male predator's dream-girl fetish, yes, _it_ rather isn't. This doesn't change that it's made of the same wires and mechanics."

Same lifeless eyes, same lack of human emotions.

The agent gives it a skeptical once-over, blatantly expressing his expectance of the persocom animating to life and screaming bloody murder.

"I'll leave you to it then," the man coughs awkwardly and leaves Will and the still machine alone.

For a short second, Will swears he sees a mischievous glimmer in the robot's maroon eyes.

He shakes his head, it is only a robot after all.

Will makes haste to set it down properly on his handy old metal chair -once the skeleton of a dentist's patient chair- that he found and now uses for multiple crafty purposes. A quick observation of the faux bodice reveals no conspicuous latch or access point to the robot's insides, causing WIll to sigh. He grabs a scalpel and gently reminds himself that he isn't cutting up a real person, only a decoy that looks like one. He makes the first incision in the middle, where all the bullets poked holes through the flesh-like surface.

Whoever made this persacom made it with the purpose of it never having its insides inspected, and even more peculiar, Will realizes, with the intention of it never turning off.

After peeling the layer of damaged silicone off, he finds himself looking at a metal surface. Gentle fingers run along the dented -but not breeched through- metal plate. _If the bullets didn't go through the robot, why did it shut off?_

A sinking sensation begins to set in Will as he cuts through the hard metal with his electric tool. The foreboding comes to fruition at the sight before him, the robot's innards are extremely jumbled, wires tangled, at times unattached, but ultimately unharmed save for a single frayed wire. _What?_

__

Will frowns. There are several other puzzle pieces not making sense in the equation. Why didn't any specialists cut through the robot's insides prior to Will? The persacom is completely seamless, as if its a real person that was born and raised, with the illusion of pale skin that has never been corrupted by hands with bad intentions or cut open(sans the area with bullets). Surely someone would have wanted to study Hannibal and lay claim to having been the first to study an acclaimed 'chobit'? Why would Jack make Will his first choice in 'fixing' Hannibal?

Will begins dipping his hands into the mess, trying to untangle the metal skeleton from the wires to later reconnect and organize. His wandering hand eventually touches something firm and intricately embossed further up its chest. _Its core._

At once several things occur. The core begins to _beat_.

Will scrambles away from the persocom, startled seafoam eyes flaying around, taking in the whole view of the large robot for any sign of movement. It begins to fossilize that Will's grave-deep in _shit_ as he remembers that he forgot to strap the homicidal robot to the reclined chair. There won't be any behavioral training performed on Will's part to get the robot to help Jack if he can't even live past the first day of attempting to fix Hannibal.

In a flurry of colors that make up Will, he fumbles around until he finally turns a nob, a mechanism that props up the chair -along with Hannibal- to a sitting position. Will turns around to get fastening belts from his shelf, only to freeze at the faint sound of whirring behind him. Swallowing his nerves, Will slowly turns around.

Horror strikes him into stone as Will notices that Hannibal's head is now turned to face him head-on, eyes wide open rather than half-closed as they were before, with maroon pupils watching him with an expression Will can only describe as _all seeing._

_  
  
**To be continued...**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> *(a/n)= The chair described and shown in the art in this chapter is a real chair owned by my friend Sonny. It's really cool and I was given permission to use pictures for reference. Thanks Sonny ;).  
> Also this is loosely inspired by the anime called Chobits.


	2. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions and curiosity is formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the chapter. No art this week but I may come back and add it in later.

Horror strikes him into stone as Will notices that Hannibal's head is now turned to face him head-on, eyes wide open rather than half-closed as they were before, with maroon pupils watching him with an expression Will can only describe as _all seeing._

...

Human interaction is built on the exchange of different chemical energy. Often tension is pulled between two polarities so as to create conversation, be it the verbal kind or the physical kind. The last thing Will expected was to find himself conversing with a machine through his gaze and physical cues alone at the height of midnight. Yet even to the ticking clockface witnessing their exchange, the room is filled to the metaphysical edge with catharsis as the two beings stare the other down. One has not realized the other mirrors his contemplation.

Crickets outside pause their serenade, owls turn their heads, prey species head to their burrows, noise embarks on a journey far away, until finally their is no such thing as outside, only inside, and the room holds its breath. What seems like an eternal cosmic reunion finally begins to diffuse when Will makes the first step forwards. The machine's eyes flicker down then back up, considering.

"You plan on tying me down with those."

It's not a question.

Will is taken aback by the human quality of the low masculine voice.

"I've heard of your...activity preferences and I'm not keen to wind up on the receiving end." Will looks down at the strap fastenings still in his hand.

The corners of Hannibal's lips twitch, as if holding back a smirk. "My name is Hannibal Lecter, as I'm sure you've heard. Might I know yours?"

Will glances back at the persocom, unbidden, his gaze gets stuck in Hannibal's eyes. "Will Graham."

They display nothing but the cold material they're made of, empty maroon slates revealing nothing, thus making Will relax marginally. For the first time in his life, Will's unique invasive vision does not act against him.

Unbeknownst to him, Hannibal takes in Will's more relaxed posture with an unhealthy dose of curiosity. The last time anyone was this modest towards Hannibal was before anyone knew of his murderous nature.

"And what is it I'm doing here-" Maroon eyes scan the room swiftly "in your workspace, Will Graham?"

"You're the persocom I was hired to fix," Will says, voice betraying his slight awe at Hannibal's deceptive mannerisms.

While the robot far from reaches the mark of causality only humans posses, it perfectly replicates the actions of a high society recluse whom rigorously trains themselves with pretentious etiquette, controlled nonsensical motions and the like. Its posture is straight, leg crossed over the other, head slightly tilted, leaving Will with the faint impression that he's the one who's intruded on Hannibal's workspace and not the other way around.

"So tell me, _the_ Will Graham who was hired to fix me, what your observations bring. Do I look in need of repair?"

Will's naturally perceptive nature tries to read Hannibal before remembering just what he's talking to. "Your hard drive clearly works just fine. Your wires could use some organizing, joints some restabilizing, and the obvious metal plate on your abdomen replaced, but overall you're functioning."

"What about you?"

Will furrows his brow. "What about me?"

"Are you functioning just fine Will?"

* * *

Against his better judgement, Will forgoes strapping Hannibal down as he works on the robot's innards. A drop of sweat has formed on Will's brow. The entire time Hannibal's scrutiny watches his every move, unblinking, and unmoving. Eventually the clock reads 3 am and Will decides he has had enough of working on the robot for tonight. As he stands straight and cracks his knuckles above his head he quickly comes to a mental predicament.

_What am I supposed to do with Hannibal now?_

Strapping the robot down is a sure way of landing Will a spot as field kabuki -as Hannibal had intoned obviously earlier- but not doing so could do the very same, in fact it could mean Will might be spared and Hannibal would escape and land several others in a gory pseudo art exhibit. Is Will in addition, regardless to strapping it down or not, supposed to invite it in to his house next door? Jack had made it explicitly clear that Will should at all costs avoid being rude should Hannibal wake. What quantifies as being rude vs simple self preservation?

"You're headed to rest now, I presume?"

"More like headed to try."

Why did he say that?

"You have trouble sleeping?"

"My mind likes to keep me awake," Will says as he begins half-haphazardly putting his tools away.

Hannibal is silent for a moment, taking in this information. "In many ancient civilizations, people used to have guards to keep watch over the rest who slumbered. Humans' need for sleep leaves them vulnerable to predators, a true pity. Imagine how much more your kind could accomplish without something like fatigue to get in the way."

"You mean, if we were more like you. No sleep, no hunger."

Hannibal gives a miniscule but undeniable smile. "It is unfortunate for you all, but very convenient for me that your species requires such needs. I'm content with our differences."

 _'And the advantages it gives me.'_ Is left unsaid but still heard by Will.

Will hesitates, pondering how he's going to approach this. "You don't require recharging?"

"I do it without shutting off, except of course in my most recent venture," Hannibal seems to catch what Will is trying to truly ask. "I shall stay here until you decide to come by and work on my structure some more."

A pause.

"Do not fret, _the-Will-Graham-who-was-hired-to-fix-me_ ," Will almost senses amusement coming from Hannibal as it says this. "You've yet to offend me, I won't kill you. Or escape either."

Will would have never thought he'd be the one getting reassured by a homicidal robot. It really goes to show how utterly socially distanced Will is from the rest of society when said murderous robot has shown more consideration and polite gesture to him than anyone in Will's life at the moment.

Will inclines his head in thanks before bidding Hannibal farewell and leaving his workshop behind him.

* * *

The early morning fog rolls in cascades of white-grey mists, blanketing everything for miles around Will's home. It gives a birds-eye view the vision of something not unlike a small white sail lost in murky seas. Warm dark brown liquid flows into a black thermos. Will seals the cap as he looks out his kitchen window.

The rest of his morning reflects the outdoor gloom. Will makes the long drive to the FBI (CENTER), the movements familiar, though resigned.

The pale walls are as stale as he remembers them to be. Several wooden doors pass by until Jack's finally comes into view. Will had sworn to himself he'd never find himself at Jack's office again. Life makes it a hobby to trample on Will's self preservation tactics.

His knuckles gently rack against the wood. A feeble hope Jack might not hear so as to grant Will another minute or two is diminished as Jack opens the door. Pleasant surprise flits across his face mixed with reasonable trepidation at the implications of Will's presence.

"He's woken up." Jack sits back in his chair while gesturing Will to sit in the one across his desk. "That was rather quick. I knew if anyone could fix him, you could."

"Its active, yes." Will rubs his nose. "I've worked on it for a night. I'm not yet done, far from it in fact. Part of the metal needs to be replaced-"

"I'll get you the part."

"-the wires need some organizing. I'll check to see for any tech malfunctions I might have missed. Despite its small issues Hannibal works...seemingly impeccably."

"What of his propriety?" Jack leans forward to rest his elbows on the desk.

Will notices a few scratches on his end of it. He wonders how may subordinates sat in his place, how many young faced detectives worried the edge as Jack gave them a grueling scold.

"Hannibal was polite, if not such an obvious shrink." Will leans back in the chair, trying to get more comfortable in the stiff seat.

Maybe they were uncomfortable on purpose. To keep the person in it on edge and more likely to open up. More likely, Will is once again thinking too deep into things.

There's an emotion Will doesn't quite like in Jack's eyes. He pinpoints it as reminiscent.

As if finally remembering himself, Jack almost seamlessly shakes himself out of his reverie. "You're alive and well. I take that as a good sign. He finds you interesting."

"That's not very comforting."

"I assume you have him under check."

Will hesitates. "I forwent shackling him."

For a moment he thinks Jack is going to slap Will for his stupidity. Will kind of hopes he does. Instead he's surprised to see a sad smile fumbling at Jack's lips.

"Smart move. I knew you'd be adept to the job."

"What happens now?"

"You handle."

"I'm not accustomed to handling people, and especially not," Will waves his hand. "-killing machines."

"You're accustomed to understanding killers. I think that will be more than enough for now."

Will sighs. _Here's hoping_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will fixes Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I popped this out right after the latest chapter Of Clubs and Staves (my other Hannigram fic). There is no flowery language in this chapter, my brain was too fried to get poetic with metaphors and bring up philosophies lol 😂.

_"I'm not accustomed to handling people, and especially not," Will waves his hand. "-killing machines."_

_"You're accustomed to understanding killers. I think that will be more than enough for now."_

_Will sighs. Here's hoping._

* * *

Intuitively, Will is aware that he left Hannibal surrounded by several tools it can use as weapons at its disposal, but he only recalls this once he reaches the door of his shack. A tentative hand slowly reaches for the door knob. The door swings beside him as Will gazes into what appears to be just his lone shack, room still covered in tools and machinery but still, with no sign of the homicidal robot. _Fuck._

Will makes a split second decision to head to his house to grab his gun. Hannibal might not have gotten far.

However, as Will enters his cabin, he is greeted by the aroma of breakfast sizzling, the smell drifting over from the kitchen. Confused, and with a grumbling stomach, Will slowly enters it to find said aforementioned murderer flipping over the food with a spatula.

"Humans should be more careful with what they put in their bodies," Hannibal says as it casts a furtive glance to what Will knows to be a mostly empty fridge sans a few beer bottles and frozen pizza. "Especially seeing as they don't live all that long."

"What I eat doesn't really matter." Hannibal appears inclined to disagree. "I wasn't expecting to get a lecture this early over my eating habits."

"It's no lecture. Merely a gauge of concern." Hannibal takes out a plate from a cupboard.

"You can't feel concern."

Hannibal stares straight into Will's eyes eerily before gesturing him to sit down by the table. "Perhaps not in the way you can."

"This is for me?" It comes off as more of a statement than question as Will gazes down at the served platter.

" A little protein scramble to start the day. Some eggs, some sausage."

"It's delicious, thank you."

"My pleasure." The edges of Hannibal's lips curve up.

Will silently contemplates as he eats the grudgingly delicious meal. He doesn't know how to interact with the robot. It seems rather cordial thus far, but Will is unsure if this is an act to get him to ease up and let down his guard around Hannibal.

"I would apologize for my analytical ambush yesterday and intrusion into your home this morning. I am not keen with being contained in one place. But I know I will soon be apologizing again and you'll tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly."

"Just keep it-" Will ponders before settling on, "Professional."

"Or we could socialize, like adults. God forbid we become friendly."

_Friendly? How does one get friendly with a known murderer?_

"I don't find you that interesting."

"You will."

Will frowns thoughtfully but chooses not to say anything back to the cryptic response.

"Jack gave me a set of your old clothes they kept. I took them to get washed at a dry cleaner's."

"How very thoughtful of you Will, thank you."

So far Will's done a good job of ignoring Hannibal's current...nakedness. Will can't help wondering why Hannibal's creators put so much thought and detail into giving Hannibal a-

"You were hired for a reason. Does Uncle Jack need a favor?" Hannibal brings its hands to a fold in front of it.

Will snaps his gaze upward, "There's a killer. The uh-" Will tries to recall the name Jack mentioned. "-They're calling him The Kuebiko killer."

"You're not fond of the name?"

"I'm not fond of people sensationalizing these murderers. Giving them titles, fan blogs, love letters. It only feeds their ego. And their urge to kill."

"'Kuebiko' is in reference to the Japanese deity of agriculture. Does Jack's killer showcase the Scarecrow's wisdom through his victims?"

"I don't know," Will stammers. "I haven't looked. I doubt it. His namesake comes more so from his knack for making live scarecrows out of his victims, rather than any other-worldly knowledge he may hold. Killers like him who transform their victims into things like scarecrows and angels and whatnot tend to feel they need protection against some higher being, or judgment."

"You can see this without looking at the bodies?" Hannibal raises a brow, much to Will's surprise. "That mind of yours is very quick-witted."

"It more so just draws imaginative conclusions based off of evidence and minor details." Will takes a sip from his coffee to shut himself up.

The last thing he needs is to have Hannibal try to psychoanalyze him again.

Noticing Will's quick withdrawal, Hannibal gives him its small, Mona Lisa smile.

"I shall do Jack the service. Before that, however, I'd like for me to be fully presentable," Hannibal says no doubt reference to the current state of his wires and dented abdomen.

"That's the plan for the rest of this week." Will offers the robot a small tentative smile.

* * *

Firstly, Will gets Hannibal's wires in order, replaces a few, then replenishes its joints. He then waits another week for the new metal part and replaces the bullet dented one. Whenever he isn't fixing up Hannibal's parts, Will spends his time on the other commission.

Hannibal watches Will work on the other persocom in the room with rapt attention. Will gets the strange sensation Hannibal wants to destroy it. This is evidenced when Will gets the other persocom, small and feminine, up and running, and Hannibal's fingers run along the different cutting tools. But maybe Will is wrong and Hannibal is actually contemplating killing _him_. Probably.

Once _Cindy_ , as it informed Will, is properly functioning, its owner comes to pick it up.

"Thank you for fixing her, Mr. Graham. I don't know how I managed without her," the tall man says as he shakes Will's hands in thanks. "She does all the chores around the house and takes care of the kids, you see. It's been a hellish two weeks for me."

"Your persocom wasn't built to handle bodily fluids inside of it. In the future you should take precaution in this regard, otherwise you'll find yourself spending quite a pretty penny on fixing it frequently."

Both the customer and Will try to suppress a startle at Hannibal's sudden appearance and comment. Will likes to think he was more successful.

"Ah- I, yes of course." a blush spreads across the man's cheeks. He looks to Will and informs him his bank will transfer the rest of the payment.

The door shuts in front of them, prompting Will to stare at Hannibal. "If you keep that up you'll scare all my customers away."

"You shouldn't have to keep cleaning that man's sperm off of the persocom's innards, it's demeaning."

Will laughs, sharp, and abruptly. Hannibal looks faintly surprised at the sound, albeit pleased. His expression goes unnoticed by Will.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," Will says hesitantly before lightly patting Hannibal's shoulder and leaving the robot momentarily stumped in the work shack.

* * *

__

_  
So very trusting,_ Hannibal gazes at Will's sleeping face. Hannibal ponders on how he will execute Will's transformation. It will have to be meaningful, probably one of his best works as of yet. As Hannibal goes through his mental file on paintings and other forms of art to recreate Will into, Will begins fumbling around in his bed, seemingly disturbed.

Hannibal swiftly tucks the knife away into his pant pocket.

Will begins yelling, the name _Abigail_ spills from his lips in a worried mantra. The night terror goes on for a while, Hannibal watches Will's mental catabolism with interest, until finally the dark haired man snaps his eyes wide open. He lifts his head towards Hannibal, blue eyes cloudy with sleep. " _I see you_."

"What do you see in me, Will?"

 _"I see you,"_ Will repeats in a seething gasp before promptly collapsing back to sleep.

"It seems you've captured my interest once again, dear Will. I'll hold off on killing you for tonight." Hannibal gives Will's slumbering form a smirk before taking his leave back to the work-shop where he will wait for Will in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always welcome and encouraging;).


	4. Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to the case. Hannibal tries to prod for what is different about Will. It become clear to Will he has no idea what he’s dealing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter y’all.

The metal of the handcuffs connecting Hannibal's wrists glints with every street light they pass. There's no sign of displeasure on the robot's features, in fact, the valley of sloped cheeks and blemish-free aristocratic features has no expression marring it at all. Despite this, Will doubts there isn't some degree of aversion to its restraints.

The escort van pulls into a dirt road, fields of corn expand as far as the eye can see. Police and a few FBI agents titter along the edge of the shoulder length crops, nervousness exudes from their fidgeting fingers and slumped shoulders. Will can't say he misses the sight.

"Will Graham please step out first," a brusque agent orders. "Hannibal Lecter wait 20 seconds before exiting slowly, hands out where we can see them."

Will watches as Hannibal exits the van. The robot's maroon eyes gaze around his surroundings, surveying everything in the vicinity. Will imagines this is the closest the persocom has experienced to freedom in a long time.

"Stay put where you are, Lecter."

Well, almost.

"Jack Crawford will arrive in a moment," The agent informs Will.

Will nods absently, still bitter he is here at all. He'd sworn off working for the FBI. Yet here he stands. Babysitting a persocom that works for the FBI.

His blue eyes wander absently, though there isn't much to see. At least not yet.

"Stay at least five feet away from Will Graham, and seven from anyone else at all times," the agent orders at the sight of Hannibal edging closer to Will.

Will hadn't thought of enforcing such a basic safety procedure on Hannibal himself, but as he observes the slightest of twitches on Hannibal's lips Will decides it is for the best he didn't. The robot has no doubt probably catalogued the agent's face. A persocom's memory is nothing short of impeccable. Will distantly makes note to himself to ensure that under no circumstances does Hannibal find out the agent's name. Although Will removed most of Hannibal's physical killing aides in its structure and material bases, ensuring a bullet now _can_ indeed breech Hannibal's middle, there's the looming chance Hannibal could simply grab a knife and perform the deed like anyone else.

After what seems like eternity, Jack arrives, face solemn and steps dragging. Will begins to tune out as Jack greets Will and explains they will need to walk a short distance through the field to reach the crime scene. Hannibal watches Jack with its usual blank observing expression. Will doesn't miss the way Jack's shoulders stiffen and expression hardens at the sight of the persocom.

"It's..." clearly unable to bring himself to say 'good to see you' Jack instead says, "been a while."

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Jack," Hannibal says, ever the poster man of manners. "How's Bella?"

A shadow crosses Jack's face. Will glances curiously between the two. "Bella?"

"My late wife," Jack replies softly.

"I'm sorry to hear of her departure," Hannibal makes move to go nearer, before-

"The body is this way," Jack swerves around and begins leading the way through a freshly cut pathway.

"Who owns this land?" Will asks offhandedly to the tension in the air, frowning through the sun's glare.

"Mr. And Mrs. Dawson do," Jack calls back. "They're on vacation in Germany. Witness accounts and bank statements prove they've stayed there the past month."

"Does your killer make good use of only unvisited acres?"

"On occasion he plants these things in occupied land."

"How many?" Hannibal surveys the clearing they approach.

The forensic team scrambles around for the slightest of clues. A police man upheaves his lunch somewhere in the yellow pasture. In the middle of the mania a crucifix wooden post stands long and tall, a body dressed in rags nailed to it.

Will makes sure his eyes quickly avert away from the body, studying the toes of his shoes.

"This marks the sixth one. We believe he'll make more," Jack sighs, his age shows prominently as he furrows his brow. "All of them are different ages, different genders, so on and so forth, there are no viewable similarities. Their organs were taken out and replaced with hay. Incisures at their necks, wrists, ankles, and knees."

Hannibal flicks his eyes towards Will, said dark haired man now edging towards the pathway they came from. "What do you think, Will?"

"I um, don't do this type of work." _Anymore_.

Hannibal studies the skittish man, eyes never leaving Will's hunched form, before finally announcing to Jack, "I haven't a clue what drives your killer."

"I beg your pardon?" Jack sputters.

Will snaps his head in Hannibal's direction, shock evident in his eyes. He's even more startled to find a small smirk curling the corners of Hannibal's lips before it disappears just as quickly as it came.

The tension Will noticed in Jack earlier fuses to a raging boil, now reflected in his stance and clenched jaw. Will recognizes this expression as one Jack wears right before yelling, Will having been on the receiving end in the past. Jack's hands clench, snarl rises along his lips, eyes livid, and Hannibal takes it all in. But then just as suddenly, surprising both Will and Hannibal, Jack's shoulders straighten out, eyes droop, deflating like a marionette collapsing after a long time of being played with. "I'm not going to argue with a wall here, Dr. Lecter."

Will's taken aback at the sight of Jack appearing so...vulnerable. Exhausted like a man who's seen everything life has to offer and turned his back on it, dissatisfied. There's a transparent history between the two, one Will has no say in, but even he, an outsider to whatever semblance of friendship Jack and Hannibal once held, can sense the moment Hannibal decides to stop trying to get a rise out of Jack. For the first time, Will considers the possibility that there may be more humanity in Hannibal than he initially gave him credit for. "I'll help, Jack."

Will looks away from the pair, feeling like an intruder.

"I'm afraid my expertise haven't touched a scene in a long time. Perhaps a wide berth may help clear my mind." His handcuffs, large and much stronger than the average flimsy ones, are more visible to Will than ever. Will distantly recalls Jack mentioning they were especially made for Hannibal, triple layered and capable of short circuiting Hannibal’s wires should he try anything. 

"Everyone clear out," Jack's voice startles everyone in the vicinity. "I won't ask a second time."

"Not you, Will." Hanninal and Jack say in unison.

Will curses himself for not moving faster.

"Remember Will, you're still his handler." Jack slowly makes his way to the end of the clearing. Hand at his gun's holster, signaling Will to be sure of his own's placement.

Will severely doubts Hannibal will need any handling of any kind at the moment.

As if proving Will's point, the robot paces around the body at the center. Maroon, calculating eyes make note of every cut, every discolored sign of rot, the crumbly stitch work pulling the limbs together, the way the corpse's lips are sewn in an eternal grimace. He studies the outfit; fabric, mixtures of tweed and raggedy scraps of patterned cotton, straw hat casting rows of shadows across the man's pallid face.

"The eyes and lips are sewn shut. I wonder if," Hannibal pauses. "the killer is avoiding judgement."

Will tries not to raise his gaze. Is Hannibal referencing their previous conversation?

"Undeniably this is a shy individual, blocking two of the most common human perceiving tools, the eyes, from which one judges, and the mouth with which one voices the judgement. The choice of forming their bodies to resemble scarecrows is slightly lost on me, however. As the careful ritual of taking a person and transforming them into an object most commonly known for keeping crows away calls to someone who requires protection or wishes to protect something."

"That contradicts the theory he's avoiding judgement," the words spur from Will's mouth before he can stop them. Jack glances at him in surprise but is far from displeased.

The ghost of a smile traces Hannibal's lips. "Why does he wish to be protected by the very thing he abhors the most?"

"He doesn't hate these people," Will realizes. "He trusts them. Adores them even."

"They've said a few lies, been cruel a few times. But he sees them as his first line of defense."

"He puts faith in their judgement more than he puts in his own," Will's gaze slowly slides up to find Hannibal already staring at him. "Their ability to perceive threats to his crops," Will waves his hand. "-to his treasure, or whatever he's protecting, is better than his. He believes his vision is warped somehow."

"The question is, of course; what are the crops and who are the crows?"

”Either an abuser or someone who he believes is oppressing him. I’m unsure about the former.”

”This killer suffers grave amounts of insecurities.” Hannibal breaks his gaze away from Will to look back at the dead body. (Will carefully puts it in his periphery)Something about it’s avid attention gives Will the impression Hannibal is critiquing the work not for its moral inclinations or lack thereof but for its physical appeal, much like one might at an art exhibit. “Struggles with his grasp on his sense of self and overall identity. Most likely experiences dissociations or hallucinations.”

Jack, who up until now has silently observed Will and Hannibal's exchange, finds himself a bit fascinated by the pair's strange but fluid dynamic. "Excellent work, you two. This is the furthest we've gotten for a motive. He’s left no evidence thus far, I'm not below admitting we at the Bureau have been stumped for a while."

"It's not much," Hannibal concedes. "But it's a start. Will here is far more sharp than he cares to admit." A look at Will. "I ponder if you've always been so receptive to people's behavioral motivations."

"He's worked for me before," Jack informs smoothly, in what Will knows is Jack's way of praising him. Will deflates, having purposefully been trying to avoid this conversation. "You two share a similarity in your capacity for understanding these criminals."

"Oh?" Hannibal prompts in the same tune as a priest listening to a church goer's sins during confessional. "Will never deigned it necessary to mention it."

Jack glances furtively in Will's direction, realizing his mistake. "But he quit. That's all in the past now."

Will gives Jack a pleading look. Jack clears his throat awkwardly.

"A shame," Hannibal admonishes with a slight raise of his brow in Will's direction. "Your understanding of the human mind surely comes in handy."

"Yeah, well," Will scoffs softly. "My days as Jack's bloodhound are over."

"I wasn't only referring to profiling, dear Will."

With a sinking feeling, it becomes perfectly clear that Hannibal knows there is something separating Will from everyone else. The chemical makeup of Will's brain has always brought him nothing but trouble. Will's loathe to see what trouble the persocom might bring.

* * *

"It's good to see you again," Beverely says with a smile.

Will makes a poor attempt of returning the forensic detective one of his own. He suspects it came out warbled and pained. The lab hasn't changed much since the last time he was there. Surroundings still pale hues of whites and blues accented by the silvers of tools and mortuary cabinets filled with cadavers. Will'd made it explicitly clear he wanted nothing to do with the post mortem and psychotic innerworkings of antisocials but no one ever gives Will Graham what he wants. _Handler for a persocom,_ Will inwardly scoffs. Jack sure has a way of getting what _he_ wants. How is the man who hasn’t even mastered the skill most people have in socializing supposed to handle a homicidal robot's demeanor? Thus far Hannibal's been _handling Will_ instead of any half-assed attempts Will might have made of controlling Hannibal.

Making him breakfast. Manipulating him into helping profile the killer. Attempting to prod at the apparatus of Will's mind. Trying to get to know it, to know him.

Will frowns at this train of thought. When put like that it sounds rather patronizing. Will steals a glance in Hannibal's direction, glaring at it in an attempt to portray ' _fuck you Hannibal you're not my caretaker. I'm yours, capiche?_ ' As if sensing Will's thoughts, Hannibal swivels his pupils in his direction, a smug little smile on its lips. Will wonders how everyone in the room might react should he wander over and slap Hannibal across its chiseled cheek.

Does that count as damaging FBI property?

Hannibal raises a single manicured brow, Will turns away, face hot. He hadn't meant to keep staring for so long. Will shakes his childish thoughts away with a sweeping glance to the vent up the wall. The air conditioning starts back up with a loud whirring noise, whistling in companion to the silence from the working group, occasionally interrupted by metal tools clicking.

At the very least, Will thinks, with small relish, he’s managed to avoid directly looking at the dead bodies and the shit show doing so would ensue. 

"No visible deep lacerations on the surface," Jimmy Price's voice says. "Well, besides the obvious attempts at playing Frankenstein."

”I’m more of a Dracula fan myself,” Beverly mutters as she neatly drops grime from the victim’s nails into a small flask.

"There's only bruising along the skin," Zeller continues. "As if he was dragged harshly. Probably previous to his death."

"He subdued his consciousness before killing him?" Jack asks.

"He?" Zeller prompts. "Maybe the culprit is a woman with a knack for a little DIY-ing. Grandpa and grandma taught her all about field and farm work."

Jack frowns at having his question unanswered.

"And all about baking apple pies and the significance of rain on Wednesdays as well, I'm sure." Price replies as he cuts along the stitches and folds a flab of skin to uncover more hay. “I can’t say they’re very good at sewing clothes though.” A glance to the patchwork garments laid across the table next to him. 

"We hardly need female representation in serial killers, Brian." Beverly laughs softly.

"Much is inconclusive but the chances of our killer being a women are slim." The flipping of papers and clinking of chains resounds loudly across the lab. Silence consumes them once more before Hannibal adds, "Nothing here hints that this victim was subdued with a drug or by force. The victim was dragged screaming or he knew his killer and believed him a friend until the moment of his demise."

Jack nods in satisfaction at Hannibal's answer. “I’ll be sure to contact the victim’s family.”

”Frank Williams,” Will says with a rub at his nose.

”Oh,” Jack says. “Of course.”

Will’s never been a fan of the way these victims are forever known for their connection to their murderers. Infamous and attached to them even after death no matter what accomplishments or lives they lived before their death.

"Might I view the previous reports of the other bodies?"

Brian gives Hannibal a disgruntled look before nodding in the direction of the board against the wall across the room. Hannibal continues to stare at Zeller with a blank face, before said man caves and mumbles out, "I'll get them for you."

"Thank you," replies Hannibal politely.

Will watches the exchange with envious eyes. From the moment he and Hannibal entered the building it seems the persocom's very presence garnered respect and subordination(and one flirtatious pair of wandering eyes from a woman on the elevator)with merely a glance of those glass maroon eyes. Will can hardly recall any occasion at all where he gathered such a response besides perhaps his time as a professor, but even that was limited as his lecturing lulled several young gazes to boredom. It doesn't help that Will follows behind Hannibal like private security escorting a celebrity or royalty, though on second thought, Will supposes his current job isn't so far off from that. 

Will is startled to find that midst him musing his past grievances Hannibal snuck his way over to his side. Definitely less than five feet apart. 

"You're not inclined to look at the bodies," Hannibal states, but there is no accusation lingering in his tone the way Jack's once did a long time ago. "Uneasy stomach?"

"Something like that," Will dodges the real question Hannibal is asking. Glances at the clock, wondering how much more time they have to be there.

"Do you know them well?"

The second hand moves around in stuttered breaths, inspiring Will to take one of his own. 

Will looks at Hannibal in faint surprise at the change of subject. "The killer? No, not yet."

"I'm referring to this forensic team," Hannibal's lips mimic mirth. "The one I worked with at my time here previously was different, and far older."

"Oh," Will fumbles stupidly. "Sort off. Well not really. I worked with them before, yes, but we are not, um, close.”

Silence. 

Will takes a breath, suddenly nervous before adding “These are good people though. Or seem to be,” Will doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend them. He imagines this is what Zeller felt. Like an exposed vein, writhing and struggling to function properly. He swallows, “Were you close with your team?"

"A few," Hannibal allows. Its eyes run along the indentations and valleys of Will’s face, and the feeling that he’s being studied like specimen returns. "Those few met my blade, however."

Will checks to see if the trio heard but they remain immersed in their work, joking amongst themselves while Jack looks at the bulletin board, probably searching for clues he won't find.

"Does Jack know?"

"He knows but he can't prove those particular cases." Hannibal shifts its metal cuff links. "Not that it’s of much importance now."

Will frowns, half in disturbance and half in confusion as to why Hannibal would decide to confide something like this to Will. Is it to frighten him? Intimidate him with the knowledge that Hannibal has done much more than what he was caught for? It's hard to read the tactful robot, it only ever shows hints of what it’s thinking of _with_ the purpose of Will knowing. But why bother at all?

For a fleeting moment, gone in a hurry shortly after Will let's it sit for a second in his mind, Will plays with the idea that Hannibal might simply be trying to impress him or inspire a twisted sense of morbid awe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading ;0. Did some more expanding on the case plot here. Hope it wasn’t too confusing lol. Also I guess this is also a profiler Hannibal au, I feel not enough people bring up the fact that Hannibal can do something similar to what Will can.


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